Maybe
by nblg6
Summary: "…and maybe, just maybe, I was falling in love with Cartman. With that in mind, I made my decision."
1. I'm just here to get my milk

Story: Maybe

Author: nblg6

Pairing: mostly Kyle/Cartman

Rating: M

Summary: "…and maybe, just maybe, I was falling in love with Cartman. With that in mind, I made my decision."

Author's notes: Just a new thing I'm working on, I hope you like it!

"Are you serious?" I licked my chapped lips, shoving a handful of Cheesy Poofs down my throat, as if that would help me forget all this crazy shit, or perhaps just choke me. That'd be equally helpful.

"It'll be fun, Kyle." Stan whispered, ignoring my question while Cartman snored and snuggled down on his sleeping bag. I rolled my eyes. "Think about it, dude. Just the four of us, discovering the world the way we're supposed to: with beer and no parents. It'll be fucking awesome, Kyle." I tuned out to eye the room. Kenny was passed out on the carpet; Stan was sitting on the edge of the couch, crushing my foot slightly; Cartman was asleep for about half an hour, and there was me, lying on the couch, wondering how my life got here.

It was the summer before college. We'd graduated from high school four hours ago. It was over, all the torture and drama of it, it was gone. Now all I had was college and then responsibilities.

I buried my face down on the bolster, sucking on huge breaths of air.

"Honestly? I'd rather fit a shoe down my throat then spend a summer with Eric Cartman, of all people. Besides, my mom would never let me go on a goddamn road trip. I'm out, sorry man."

Stan dropped his hands on his sides, sighing protractedly. "We don't want to go without you, Kyle!" he cried out, pinching his nose.

"I'll tell you what, ask Butters to go on my place." I chimed in, a little distracted from out conversation. Cartman mumbled something and rolled a good two feet to the left.

"Okay, whatever. I'm going to sleep." He said, pulling his sister's bed's mattress to rest on the empty corner of the living room. "But just…think about it, dude. A road trip, to get to know the world. What's so wrong about it?" Stan fell to the mattress, the blanket barely covering his feet.

I couldn't help but think this whole idea was somewhat gay. No, scratch that, it was completely gay.

Being gay wasn't exactly a problem for me, since I found out I liked boys when I was twelve or so, but I still couldn't come out. So yeah, it sucked to be trapped on this town, hiding who I am, and obviously unable to hook up with anyone, because of course people would know if I went around fucking everything that moves, like Kenny does.

And I knew for a fact I was the only gay around besides Mr. Garrison, whom I had no interest on tapping, whatsoever.

Wow. It's amazing how time flies. Last time I checked it was nine o'clock, and then suddenly it was a quarter past midnight. I saw Cartman stretch with the corner of my eye, his biceps wrapped tightly inside his Terrance and Phillip t-shirt. His muscles were almost tearing his shirt's sleeve's up, which was kind of ridiculous.

I guess I still wasn't over the fact that the fatass is now a…hot fatass.

Seriously.

He was tired of being called fat, so he started to take swimming classes when we were fourteen. Then he started playing basketball. Then soccer. Then fucking volleyball.

But he was still fat, of course, only the fat was now spread all over his body, mostly concentrated on his belly, but you can't exactly call him thin. Nope. He's big.

Why was I thinking about fucking Cartman? I should be sleeping.

I got up and dizzily made my way towards the kitchen, my instincts sort of guiding me. It had been a while since I went to Stan's house and even though not much had changed, there were a few new pieces of furniture and a coffee table pushed a little to the right.

I swerved the obstacles and was soon enough standing in front of the fridge. I swiftly grabbed the milk box and poured some of it inside an Iron Man cup. I turned on the microwave and waited for my milk to warm up.

Weird, I know. It just helps me fall asleep.

"Trouble sleeping, Jew?" Cartman's voice snapped me back to reality, his words echoing through the empty kitchen, mixed in with the annoying sound of an old microwave.

"None of your business, fatass." I leaned back against the sink, my elbows weakly supporting me.

"I'm not fat." Cartman said back, his fingers fidgeting the waistband of his shorts. I gulped.

"Whatever, I'm just here to get my milk." He looked at me pointedly, the weight of what I just said crushing me like a ton of bricks. "Whatever." I repeated. He came closer.

"So, I couldn't help but listen to you talking to your boyfriend…why are you being such a pussy?"

"What are you talking about, asshole? I just don't want to be trapped inside a stinky truck with you guys during two months and a half." Cartman stepped closer, his arm almost touching mine. I felt a rising heat within me, probably from the microwave. Sure…

"So instead of going with us, you're going to seat on your couch and play Halo your whole vacation? Awesome plan." That hit me. That was exactly what I planned on doing, and in my mind, it sounded a lot better than when it came out of his mouth.

"Alright, give me three good reasons why I should come to this stupid road trip." Cartman bit the insides of his cheeks before finally speaking, his words inaudible due to the beeping sound of the microwave.

"Holy shit, Kyle. Turn this thing off or you're going to wake Stan's bitch sister up." I quickly pressed the button stop. Cartman reached over me and pressed the numbers 6 and 0, making my milk warm up for another minute. "Well, you want three reasons, right?" I nodded. "One: Stan. Two: Kenny. Three: me." He said simply.

"Hah, I said three _good _reasons, fat hole. You're definitely not good."

"You over think everything, Kahl." He said, moving closer to me. "You just have to loosen up a little. This road trip is everything we need: you get to run away from your family, get to drive for the first time, get to tap some ass from different states, it's like a blessing." I had to laugh at that. If he only knew how hard I ached for an ass to tap. "And the best part…" he stepped closer, his hot breath tickling my bruised lips. "You get to get away from South Park."

I breathed heavily as I leaned on Cartman, all of last year's emotions shot back in my brain. The moment I closed my eyes, the goddamn microwave beeped again, smoke coming out of it. My milk was probably to the point of evaporating now, but I couldn't care less.

"See?" Cartman asked, backing up and almost tripping over his own foot. I happened to find the scene quite amusing, but kept it to myself. Cartman blushed as I sighed, taking my cup with both hands. "Those were four reasons. Think about it…" I smiled softly, ignoring my burning fingerprints.

He disappeared among shadows, leaving me behind with a fucked up smile on my face.

I threw the milk inside the sink, sighing as its smoke hit my face.

I made my way back to the couch, lying down and pulling the blanket up my neck.

Maybe Cartman was right.

Maybe I did have to loosen up a little, open myself for consequences.

Maybe this road trip was all I needed.

…and maybe, just maybe, I was falling in love with Cartman. With that in mind, I made my decision.


	2. My boy finally grew up

Author's notes: Guys…I posted my story yesterday. I already have 6 followers and 4 people favorited this ff! I really didn't expect such a reaction. I don't know if I should be so happy but I am! So, here's the next chapter. ANDDDDD I'm sorry if this is a little bit boring, but I need to develope the story a little more before I get where I want to get. Makes sense? I'll leave it up to you ;) AND BTW, I know it reaaaaaally sucks to do this, but pleaseeeee review. PRETTY PLEASE? :)))) thank you and enjoy Chap. 2.

P.S: I know I said I was posting it next week only but I guess I felt inspired :)

* * *

I picked up my phone. I thought about throwing it against my bedroom's wall. Against my mother's head. Against _any fucking thing_.

Instead, I dialed Cartman's number.

"Hello?" his voice answered.

"Cartman, I'm not going on the road trip." I said, gripping the phone tightly.

"Why the fuck?" he asked simply. I shrugged, clenching my fists.

My relationship with Cartman was a little…weird, to say the least.

Like, I despised him until the middle of last year, when we were at Red's party.

I was drunk, he was stoned, it sort of happened.

We made out.

There, I said it.

And since then, I just changed my point of view towards Cartman.

Towards everything I knew, actually.

Towards my friends, my family, my fucking sexuality.

_Goddamn you, Cartman_.

"My mom won't let me, asshole." I explained calmly. "I already talked to her."

"Listen, Jew, you're seventeen. You're a teenager. People expect teenagers to fuck up; you should do it sometimes." Cartman lowered his voice.

"How do I fuck up?" I asked.

"Goddamn it, you stupid Jew, do I have to tell you what to do all the fucking time? Come to the road trip without your mom's approval_." _

The thought wasn't as scary as I thought it should be.

I really should fuck up.

_I wanted _to fuck up.

My mind wandered to last week, in Stan's house._ 'You over think everything._ _This road trip is everything we need._ _You get to get away from South Park.'_

I smiled.

"Fine." The words slipped out of my lips before I could stop them. I felt so light; so good.

"'Fine'? You coming?" Cartman asked, unbelievably happy with the news I'd just tell him. Weeeeird.

"I'm coming." I answered.

"Stupid Jew…you know your mom's gonna kill you when you get home, don't you?"

I smiled wider.

"I know."

"Kewl." Cartman answered, sounding distant. "Listen, Kahl, I gotta go but I'll see you at Stan's in an hour."

"Uh…'k." Cartman mumbled something.

"Bye, Jew." I ended the call.

I let my body fall on my bed.

So I was a rebel.

_Kewl_.

My mom yelled from downstairs, something about dinner, but I couldn't care less.

I felt like that road trip was the beginning – the real beginning – of my life.

Is it awkward to think that way? It certainly is depressing, but well.

"Hey, mom?" I asked, jamming my hands inside my pockets to find my goddamn car keys. I pulled my hat down until it was covering most of my face, my eyes seeing green only.

"Kyle, stop goofing around." She said in a reprehensible tone, her hands pulling the hat back up. "What do you want, sweetheart?"

"Can I go to Stan's house now? He's want me to, uh…help him find a thing." I said, blushing. I never lied to my mom, and when I did, she always found out the truth, punishing me by taking my phone/Xbox/laptop for (usually) three weeks. Or making me go to bed without dinner. Terrifying, tell me about it.

"Oh Kyle, you know how I feel about you alone at this time on the afternoon…"

"Mom…it's five o'clock. Stan can give me a ride back home. Pleeeease?" I mentally kicked myself for using the 'pleeeease' trick. It's a Cartman thing.

"…fine. Just take care, ok?" she said, kissing my forehead. "I expect you to be here by nine. If you're a minute late, don't bother coming in." I watched as she walked into the living room, swallowed by the darkness there.

"_Bitch_." I mumble to myself. My hand found the doorknob and quickly turned it.

In within fifteen minutes I was alive and well (much to my mom's dismay) and ringing the doorbell to Stan's house.

I felt so fucking _amazing_ after I decided I was going to the goddamn road trip, no matter what my family thought of it. I could hear Cartman shouting at Kenny (what else is new?), something about letting him eat his cookies. As if anyone could stop him from eating something.

"Kyle!" Stan opened up, stepping aside promptly. "Come in, dude."

"Thanks, man." I made my way to the living room, where Cartman was going crazy and Kenny didn't give a shit.

"…why would you bake fucking cookies, you poor asshole? And why'd you let me eat them, Kinny, you son of a bitch!"

"What's going on?" I asked. Cartman cooled off (apparently) and Kenny texted someone with Stan's phone.

"KINNY'S A TOTAL SOAP DODGER, THESE COOKIES ARE, LIKE, INFESTED WITH HIS GERMS!"

Kenny and Stan were pretty much just standing there stifling a laugh while Cartman was about to cry. I rolled my eyes.

"Three things. One: what's a fucking soap dodger?"

"Someone without any personal hygiene like fucking Kinny!"

I ignored Cartman, moving on to number two.

"Two: Kenny fucking _baked_, dude, you should be thankful."

"Jackass." Kenny added, biting a cookie. But I must admit it, it looked a little gross. Anyhowwwww…

"And three: I'm coming to the trip. But, my mom doesn't know about it."

Kenny and Stan stared at me in complete disbelief (hehe. Funny); Cartman smiled proudly.

"Kyle…" Stan broke the silence, running an uncertain hand through his hair. "Is this _you_?"

I laughed. I fucking laughed, and the three of them sort of look like they want to explode. Good. _Goooood_.

"My boy finally grew up." His voice chimed in, making the three of us look at him in as if he was mental.

Fuck, I think he was.

So Eric Cartman just said I was _his boy_.

Hah. I wish I was.

...The hell did I just think?

Oh crap.

"Whaaa-what the fuck did you just say, Cartman?" Stan asked. I wanted to puke, honestly.

"What? I'm just saying Kahl's no longer a pussy. Congrats, Jew." Cartman said simply, squeezing his can of Dr. Pepper.

"What a fag." Kenny finally said after a good five minutes of complete nothing, just silence.

Cartman punched Kenny's stomach, making him flip over.

Then it hit me.

I was in for a hell of a ride.


	3. Ewwww

Author's notes: Hi guys, what's up? Soooooo sorry for not uptading earlier! Is just that I've been quite busy with my family lately :/ so I know my last few chapters were probably boring, but the next chapter will have some more "action". Hehehehehe. And also, I think I'm going to start another fic, but don't worry, I won't abandon this one, so if I do get to post this other fic, I'll let you know!

Special thanks to RenaRocks and symphknot for reviewing! You guys really made my day when I saw them! :))))

So, there you go, chapter 3! :*

* * *

"-you just want to get laid; you don't give a fuck about us!" Cartman spouted. I could see his feet planted firmly on the ground, as if he was keeping himself from kicking Kenny's ass.

That's actually one of the reasons I admire Kenny so fucking much. He's not afraid (unlike most people) of confronting Cartman and getting his ass kicked. I also look up to him because of his ability of getting so much pussy (not that I'm interested on pussies, but still).  
He has, like...a gift.

"Oh, and you do? You care about anyone besides you?" Kenny shot back. Cartman sighed. They were a major pain in the ass.  
I thought briefly of how it would be when we were stuck inside a car for three days.

"Screw you guys; I'm go-"

"You're not going anywhere until we figure out where the hell we want to go first." I said, confident. He glanced me a frozen glare. I gulped.

"Whatever, you dumb Jew."

I smiled proudly.

"So...where do you guys wanna go?" Stan asked as he came back from Cartman's kitchen with sandwiches. There was another mortifying silence. Stan chimed in again. "I know! We could go to California!" Kenny seemed confused, while the rest of us simply considered the idea. "...my uncle lives in Los Angeles." he added, looking pointedly at Kenny.

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Cartman furiously asked. I rolled my eyes.

"Los Angeles is in California, fat fuck."

"I'm not fat; I'm big boned." I didn't really know why those words hit me so forcefully. I guess it was because he used that phrase so much when we were kids, that just hearing it brings memories. Memories I shoved deep down inside my mind. Memories I buried with another load of memories. Useless memories, memories I just used to get rid of...the memories I wanted to get rid of.

God, I sound so fucking high in my head.

"Cartman, go get a map."

"Mem!" he yelled. "Meeeeem, I need a mahp!"

"One minute, sweetie, mommy's getting dressed." Ms. Cartman replied, the sound of her hands going through drawers were all we could hear. She came down the stairs about five minutes later. She seemed all worked up. Cartman glared at Kenny as the kid pretty much ate Cartman's mom with his eyes. She was wearing a skin-tight black dress, with a bra that pushed her boobs up her chin and she probably wasn't wearing any panties, since the lines of her ass were quite visible.

I think she sort of forgot we were all seventeen year old horny teenagers and she was quite the MILF, from what I've been told.  
And as sick as that may sound, Cartman's mom was, in fact, pretty hot.  
That got me.  
So was I bi? Or just a gay guy with a good straigt taste?  
Riiiight.  
That made no sense.  
Or was I just straight and had the hots for guys?  
Who knows.

"You can pull you chin back up, perv, my mom already left." Cartman stated, pointing at the door.

"Dude..." Kenny trailed off. "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Sick." Stan said, disgusted. I couldn't help but hate myself for thinking Ms. Cartman - of all fucking women - was smokin'.

"Whatever." Cartman watched Kenny rush upstairs.

"We should to decide if we're going to L.A., 'cause I need to let my uncle know if we want to stay at his place." Cartman spread the United States map in front of us.

"Ok, so we'd go from here..." he drew a circle on a barely visible dot, which was South Park. "To here..." Cartman swiftly drew a line connecting our state to California.

"...that's pretty much it. Why?" Stan asked absentmindedly.

"Nothing. So...?"

I frowned at the piece of paper.

"Uh. Let me think..."

"Don't; I can smell it all the way from here." Cartman snapped, smirking.

"Dude, not even my grandfather says things like that, and the man's insane." Stan said. I growled. I so wasn't in the mood for Cartman and his supposed-to-be-funny jokes.

"It sounds good to me." I finally spoke. I traced an invisible line from California all the way east to New York with my fingers.

I always dreamt of watching a play on Broadway, ever since I was, like, five.  
Yes, I fear that I am, in fact, a stereotyped gay.  
Maybe I've been one since I was little.  
The thought made me flinch.  
Because every time I thought something, that something would lead to a childhood related something, and the image of my mom would pop up in my brain.  
And than a list of infinite punishments she could use on me after I came back from the trip would appear.  
And that sucked hard.  
I suddenly noticed I've been zoning out for longer that I thought.  
I really should stop doing it.  
I didn't even notice Kenny coming back from the toilet.

"Had fun?" Stan asked.

"Totally."

Cartman seemed pretty pissed.  
Sweet.

"Dude, did you notice how twisted you are? I mean, jacking off to Cartman's mom...gross." I asked - well, more like stated, since I didn't even get an answer -, watching Cartman closely.

"Whatevs." Kenny merely replied, pulling his zipper up. "So where're we goin'?"

"L.A." I answered.

"Cool." Cartman sniggered.

"'Kewl'?" he repeated. "It's not like you're gonna have another chance to get out of this miserable town! You should consider this a blessing!"

My mind flashed back to last week, when Cartman talked me into this (already) infernal trip.

He just sounded so calm. Nothing like the real him. But then again, how can I know if this elefant-sized creature yelling at his lifelong friend is the real Eric Cartman?  
It might as well just be one of his sides.  
But why in fuck would he show me his tender sweet side?  
Maybe he was out of his fucked up mind that night.  
Yeah. Good solution.  
Escaped another chance to face the reality that Cartman may like you back.  
Great job, 'tard.  
Wow, I really need to stop calling myself names.  
If I don't respect myself, then who will?  
Yup. I'm most definitely a stereotyped gay.

"Dudes." Kenny randomly said. "Dudes! Dudes, I know!"

"What do you know?" Cartman's sharp voice cut him off.

"Before we go to Los Angeles, we can stop by at the one and only, the real heaven on earth, the pussy paradise..." Kenny looked around. Probably to make it more dramatic. "Las fucking Vegas."

"Holy fuck, you're a generous." Cartman said, slightly catatonic at Kenny's sudden (sudden for Cartman; for me it was quite predictable) smart statement.

Ok, I guess Cartman's answer pretty much confirms he likes women, which brings me back to stage one. Whatever, it's not like I'm not used to it.

"I don't know..."

"Don't you dare say one more word! All my life I've had to deal with you and your buzzkillingness!" I roll my eyes at that, because, really? "All my life I've had to shut my mouth and suck it up when you didn't want to do something! If you decided you wouldn't to something because, I don't know, you could break a fucking nail, nobody did it either! All my life you've been keeping me from doing things I wanted to do - not by myself, 'cause I'm not stupid enough like Stan to let sneaky Jews interfere my decisions, but with you guys, and I'm sick of it!" he took a deep breath. I laughed. A loud, genuine, throaty laugh.

"I never saw you sucking something up or shutting your mouth, not only once, during my whole life time, and I'm sorry for wanting what's best for us! Next time you want to jump off a bridge, you can go ahead because I'm through with you! All my 'buzzkillingness' was just to protect our asses from the crazy stuff your empty mind came up with, so don't you fucking dare say you're sick of it, because if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be here in the first place!" he stared at me in awe. All the three of them, actually. "And by the way," I added. "I hesitated at the stupid Las Vegas idea because there's no fucking way they'll let four teenagers into a casino!"

There was silence. So much of it. It was becoming a regular thing. Long, uncomfortable pauses like that one.

"Fake IDs." Kenny - who had been snapping his fingers, deep in thought for the last minutes - spoke up. "I can get us some fake IDs."

"That the worse idea you've ever had, Kenny." Stan said.

"I agree."

"Of course you do." Cartman muttered under his breath.

"It'll work." Kenny said confident. Kenny may not look like the most reliable person in the world, but when he states something, it's true. No matter what. He's probably the most loyal person I know.

"...you know what? Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I'm sick of taking care of everything while you three keep having a blast. If we do get to go to Las Vegas, I'm getting drunk and stoned every single night we're there and it's your fucking turn to babysit. So I suggest you make the best out of it and be sober." I said.

"The only type of girls who'd soberly hook up with me would be either a hooker with AIDS or a fat forty year old woman with AIDS." Cartman stated, ruffling his own hair. "Though I'd never pay for sex, so yeah, all I have left is the obese grandma."

"You'd never pay for sex?" I asked.

"So not the point." he simply answered. That intrigued me (a fucking lot).

"Seriously, why wouldn't you?"

"Look, let's just say I know what those bitches go through and...I guess I'd rather not support that kind of work. I guess becoming a prostitute can pretty much ruin one's life and I think I'd feel like I'm encouraging what they do by paying to fuck them."

My mind was completely blank when he finished that sentence.  
Three words floated around, making me nuts:  
What-the-fuck.  
But seriously, what the fuck was that?  
Was he talking about his mom?  
Did he just...pity the hookers?

"But don't you think it was their choice to do that to themselves?" I asked. Cartman shrugged.

"Not really. You don't know what they went through before having to turn to that."

"Couldn't they, like, be working at Mc Donald's instead of giving B.J.s for money?" Kenny said.

"No, you motherfucker."

"Anyhow..." Stan started. "Kenny, can you get the fake IDs?" he nodded. "Good. Cartman, calculate how long from here to Las Vegas and then to L.A., and Kyle, get the food."

"And what will you do, cunt face?"

"I'll get the car, fatass."

And our meeting ends.

I guess I was still a little shocked from Cartman 'opening up' like that. It was sort of...cute?  
Ewwww.

I shrugged at the fact that I was gonna have to accept the fact that Cartman's an unpredictable asshole _and_ the fact that I was falling for him.

EWWWW.


	4. Say hello to Mr Jack here

Well, hello there! I know it's been a while since I posted chptr. 3, but here's number 4! Hope you like it!

P.S.: Just noticed I didn't do_ this_ yet: I don't own anything.

Sorry if this chapter sucked ass.

THANK YOU SO SO SO SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! DON'T STOP, THOUGH! HAHAHAHA.

Seriously now.

Special thanks to symphknot, TamiLove, RenaRocks, and idontdanceigrind for reviewing! Xoxo

And...enjoy this mothafuckah.

* * *

And here I am.

Staring down at my feet as Kenny hugs his parents and siblings goodbye. I sigh for not being able to do that to mine, though I'm not really sure I would like to.

I did leave Ike a note though. It was something like: 'Ike, I'll be away for a couple of days. Please don't tell mom or dad about this. I just need to get things right this time. Don't worry about me; I'm with Stan, Kenny and, unfortunately, Cartman. Sorry for anything. -KB', to which he answered: 'have fun w/ ur gay friends' in a text message.

"You ready?" Kenny throws his Adidas bag over his shoulder. The truth is that when we were about fourteen his dad won the lottery but spent pretty much all of it in booze, leaving a part for each member of the family. His mom used her part of the money to graduate from high school and began working as a professional chef last year. Kenny decided to spend his part on our road trip, even after Stan and I begged him to save it for college or other important stuff. So yeah, Kenny is still the poor kid, only now he has a little money. And by a little, I mean two thousand dollars on his bank account. This only makes Cartman sound dumber when he calls Kenny poor.

I guess some things never - and really shouldn't - change.

"Sure." we scroll down the street to Stan's house. Just as I'm about to knock, the door nearly flips me over. I stumble, Kenny's arms reaching out to grab my shoulders. Wendy runs out of Stan's house, her eyes red. She sniffs.

"S-sorry, Kyle." she breathes out before scowling at her own two feet.

"Wendy, wait a second!" Stan's desperate voice comes from inside the house. We watch as Wendy gets into her car and disappears in a few seconds. "Shit!" Stan hisses, standing at the door.

"What happened?" I ask. I wasn't really surprised, and neither was Kenny. Stan and Wendy are the 'break-up-make-up' (or 'fuck-up-hook-up', like Kenny prefers to say) type of couple, fights like this one happens all the time.

"She's pissed at me 'cause she thinks I'm only going to Vegas to get drunk and have sex with a bunch of women, since she won't put out." Kenny shoots him an apologetic look, making Stan flinch. Am I a bad friend for thinking this whole situation is somewhat funny?

"Dude, relax. She'll be at her knees in about half an hour." I state, motioning for Stan to step aside. I walk past him into his living room.

"Literally." Kenny adds. Stan just rolls his eyes before kicking the door shut.

"I don't think so, dude. This time was ugly."

"That's what you always say, Stan." I try to comfort him, but apparently fail miserably.

This weekend already sucks.  
A sharp knock on the door plant a bright smile in Stan's face. He probably thinks it's Wendy. Poor thing.

"Hey, bab-oh."

"Oh, hello, darling!" Cartman mocks, watching as Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. "...where's my kiss, pookie?" Cartman puckers his lips and tightly closes his eyelids. Stan slaps his face away with a sharp blow. "Ouch! Motherfucker! Who put sand up your vagina?"

"Cartman, shut up." I say calmly, like those Super Nanny people.

"Wendy just dumped him." Stan glares at me briefly. Oops.

"Ohh, the two lovebirds broke up again, huh? That is so sad, you guys! Let's eat buckets of ice cream and cry and watch 'A Walk To Remember' and comb each other's hairs as we listen to Bonnie Tyler!"

Kenny and I snigger in the background when Stan jams his fists inside his pockets. I watch as Stan shudders and shrugs Cartman off with a 'fuck you', dropping his body on the nearby couch.

"So how are you, fags, doing?" he asks, kicking his bag to the side.

"You really wanna know?" Kenny answers (more like asks, too), sitting on the floor beside Cartman.

"Not really, no."

I sigh and let my knees give in. I lie down in front of the two of them and stare at the ceiling, tangling my fingers on top of my belly. Cartman stares at it for much too long. I close my eyes. I fucking hate my body, and the way he's checking me out is really making me feel horrible. I sound like such an anorexic drama queen but whatever. I mean, I'm not fat. I'm actually the skinniest one of us four. I don't have muscles like Stan or Kenny, though. My stomach's pretty flat, actually, which bothers the shit out of me. Cartman's the fattest. But he's also the tallest, so his fatness is spread all over his body. He's sort of the 'maybe hot, maybe not' type of guy. He's sort of...my type of guy.

Oh great. Now I have a type.

His eyes roam around, stopping at the top of my thighs. He sighs before getting up and heading to the kitchen.

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

"Uh...we have to leave in about two hours." Stan reminds us, grabbing a couple of backpacks. "Kyle, aren't you bringing anything?"

Something clicks in my brain.

Shit! I knew I was forgetting something.

"Crap! Dude, can you lend me some clothes?" I ask hopefully. Of course, he hesitates.

"You know what? I don't think my clothes would fit you...I guess you should go home to, uh...get some stuff." I roll my eyes. Stan was never the sharing type of person. Not that he's selfish (actually, he totally is, but that's not my point), but I'm his best friend. I should matter, goddamn it.

"Stan, you know very well I can't go home, pack up and leave. My mom would fill me up with questions."

"Do you at least have the money?"

A voice comes from the hallway. We all turn to look at Cartman, a plate of brownies pressed tightly between his hands. He weirdly offers me one. "Kenny baked them." he explains at my curious expression. I bet he thinks I'll be grossed out because Kenny doesn't wash his hands or whatever. That fucking sissy. I take a huge, dramatic bite.

"Yeah." I take my wallet from my coat pocket. "A thousand dollars. In cash." I try to ignore the fact that all I brought was money and insulin, as I chew on another brownie. It sort of makes my throat swallow when I realize I have fucking diabetes.

But whatever, if I'm gonna die, I want it to be Cartman's fault.

"Dude!" Kenny screams. "Looks like you really went to town with what we said!"

"Yeah, man. I know we told you to loosen up and all, but that's a little too much, don't you think?"

"Nah. Actually, I guess stealing money from my parents is as loosen up as I can get, so..." I say, eating my third or fourth brownie. By now, I'm not even hungry any more; it's just fun to look at Cartman's horrified expression.

"I disagree..." Kenny makes his way towards me, batting his eyelashes. Creepy.

"Kenny..." Cartman tries to say, but shuts up immediately after Kenny shoots him a glare.

Now that's new.

"Say hello to Mr. Jack here."

Before my brain can put two and two together, the tip of a bottle is shoved inside my mouth and I bring my hands to cup it before it falls to the floor. I take a few huge gulps before realizing what I'm doing.

"Dude." I trail off. I can't really tell if this is already the alcohol speaking or not, all I know is that I'm not me now. Kenny replies something, than laughs, pulling the bottle to himself and drinking a little bit too. "Motherfucker..." I whisper as my brain shuts down completely. Before I know it, a pair of huge arms is carrying me until I'm shoved carelessly into the backseat of Stan's car. I watch as Cartman scolds whoever dropped me like that. I rest (more like drop) my head against the window, staring at the blurry snow ground. I snigger. All I know is that that thing Kenny gave me was most definitely not alcohol (I mean, not_ just _alcohol).

Cartman climbs in next to me, followed by Kenny and Stan. I hear the engine start in the back of my head, my lazy gaze dropping to my feet. That wasn't Jack Daniels.

I mean, I've gotten wasted before and it never felt like this.  
The other (few) times I drank so much, I remember feeling everything around me so colorful and alive. I felt giggly and happy and as gay as ever.  
Right now, any sound I hear is distant, every color seems to turn some shade of grey and the world around me slowly crumbles into a big ball of melancholy and ashes.  
Now that's a way of starting a vacation.  
Stan stops abruptly at a red light and that's enough for my stomach to turn inside out and make me hurl. I try to aim at my own two feet (because I'm too much of a Jew even when I'm drunk) but end up shooting my breakfast all over Cartman's shoes.  
I close my eyes tightly as I wait for Cartman to flip a shit and start hitting me, or maybe just yelling at me, if I'm lucky. Which I'm clearly not.

"Dude...help him out." Kenny asks. I think about stating that this is his own entire fault, but leave it up to Cartman. If he doesn't want to say it, I'm definitely not opening my mouth to do it.  
God knows what it may come out if I do so.

"You okay?" he cups my face harshly - his angry actions not matching his soft tone -, cleaning the corners of my mouth with a Subway napkin. I lick at the spot he caressed. It tastes like chicken. Somehow, I'm not grossed out. He is using a restaurant's napkin, after all. "Dumb Jew..." he mumbles, handing me a plastic bottle. "Drink it."

I take the bottle and groggily guide it towards my mouth, taking small sips. Cartman's hand is suddenly pressed against the bottom of the bottle, forcing more of it into my mouth. I gag as the water just slides down my throat, making me light headed.

"Stop it, fat ass, you're gonna choke him!" Stan screams, watching us carefully when we come to yet another stop.

Cartman ignores them, and I feel his eyes cutting mine like blades. What is it with him, anyway?  
He has been really weird, lately.  
I'm snapped back to reality when the very tip of the bottle touches my palate, making me wriggle unwittingly until I throw the bottle aside and vomit again.

"You fucker, see what you just did?" Kenny yells. Cartman just laughs.

"It's not my fault he ate your crappy weed."

I shiver.

"What?" I ask with all the voice I had left. Kenny and Cartman look at me - who had been silent all along, figures why - with a blank expression.

"Kenny mixed marijuana in the brownies." Cartman spits out. Stan stops again. Oh great.

"You did what?"

I really don't need Stan defending me, but I don't have any forces left.

"Look, I'm sorry, I just wanted this to be fun."

Cartman sighed.

"Yeah, but you ruined it when you made him drink scotch after he ate those brownies!" he quickly glances at me, scowling. After that, I pass out.

My thoughts went from my mom, to Las Vegas, to my future, to Cartman, back to my mom, to Ike, to college, to sex, and back to mom.  
Weird, I know.  
From sex, I go to mom. That's how fucked up I am.  
I wake up to some Fleetwood Mac song, watching quietly as Cartman lip synced. I'll totally call him on it later.  
I giggle at his contorted face as he pretends to hit a high note. Cartman notices me and quickly gets all bravado again, scoffing down a whole bag of chips before burping loudly. I roll my eyes.

"Hey, Stan?" Stan looks at me briefly before focusing back on the road. "Can I borrow your iPod?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry, dude. I left it at home."

"Cartman?" I look at him hopefully. He simply sighs and puts on sunglasses, even though it was, like, 6 p.m.

"Whatever, it's in the blue bag."

I put on the headphones and click on 'Shuffle'.  
Suddenly, 'Endless Love' starts playing in my ears.  
My eyes widen.  
Since when does Cartman listen to this shit? It's busting my fucking eardrums!  
I close my eyes and breathe deeply.  
Maybe he has some real songs here.  
I scroll down the screen, but all I see is Mariah Carey, Britney Spears, Dixie Chicks and crap like that.  
Oh, nice. Bon Jovi.  
I press Play.  
And of course I'm not surprised when 'Thank You For Loving Me' starts playing.

"Goddamn it, Cartman! Of all Bon Jovi songs, you download the gayest one? Jesus! How gayer can you get? I mean, Christina Aguilera? Please." His eyes fill with anger for a second before he breathes in. I'm pretty sure I hear Kenny saying 'the fuck?' from behind his hood.

"Give me my iPod." I shove the iPod in his hand, the stupid song still playing, like a soundtrack. I wonder if Cartman's really upset with what I said or if he's just tired, like me. As weird as that may sound, I hope it's option number two. "And, Kyle?" I look at him. He shakes his head a little. "Fuck you."


	5. Author's Notes

Hey guys. Sorry, this is not a new chapter yet. Just an Author's Notes. So, I lost all my progress on this fic a while ago (I usually write my stories on my iPhone when I have time), and since then I just lost all interest on going on with Maybe. While I rewrite the lost chapter, I ask you to please go check out my other fic, You're Not Drunk, and tell me what you think! Xoxo, take care.


	6. Just ham

Just a little something. Sorry, this chapter is shortttttttt! :( I'm really disappointed on me, but uh, I hope you like this.

P.S.: There are a lotta songs references, so maybe you should listen to them first? I dunno, it's not important, really.

* * *

"WELL I GUESS IT WOULD BE NICE IF I COULD TOUCH YOUR BODY I KNOW NOT EVERYBODY HAS GOT A BODY LIKE YOUUU BUT I GOTTA THINK TWICE BEFORE I GIVE MY HEART AWAY AND I KNOW ALL THE GAMES YOU PLAY BECAUSE I'VE PLAYED THEM TOO-" I don't know exactly when I drifted off to sleep again, but I slowly (and too painfully) open my eyes. The first thing I see is a blurry window and just a road outside it.

Then I glance around. Kenny's sitting by my side, probably drunk off his ass (because he wouldn't sing along to George Michael if he wasn't). Cartman's driving. Stan's asleep in the passenger seat. I notice the music comes from Cartman's iPod, which Kenny's using without headphones.

"OH BUT I NEED SOME TIME OFF FROM THAT EMO- ohh, look! Kyle wake! Haha! Oh MANNN." I chuckle. Kenny makes no freaking sense when he's drunk.

"Shut up. Just...shut up, Kenny." Cartman mumbles. I think he didn't understand that I woke up, so I'll just stay quiet. Cartman doesn't look like he wants to talk, anyways. "And change the fucking song; you played this shit, like, four hundred times already."

"You _downloaded _this shit!" Kenny screams, hitting the shuffle button. "Ah, man! Air Supply! I'M LYING ALONE WITH MY HEAD ON THE PHONE-"

"Thinking of you 'till it hurts..." I literally feel my face falling (not cool) when Cartman sings too. They scream together to "All Out Of Love" as Cartman drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Kenny just rocks his head to the beat, almost breaking his neck (and the seat).

I sigh. Maybe this will turn out to be fun. Who knows?

Kenny hits shuffle again and this piano thing comes on. It's pretty good, actually. Not as gay as the other songs.

"Just take those old records off the shelf, I seat and listen to 'em by myself. Today's music ain't got the same soul-"

"I like that old time rock and roll." I say, because no way in hell I'm going to sing. I notice Cartman flinching. "Risky Business. Classic."

"Timeless." Cartman adds. I see a smile forming in his face through that mirror thingy. I smile too. "So how long have you been up, Jew?"

"I TOLDD YOU SO! But you ddnit lisent!" Kenny says (sort of), laughing at himself.

"Go suck an egg, white trash." Cartman spits out. I laugh.

"I dunno, it's been a few minutes." I answer, after some time. Cartman 'hmm's. After four or so songs (Abba, Pat Benatar, Queen...as gay as they might be, they're not even close to bad), Kenny passes out, slouched on his seat.

"Are there any Cheesy Poofs left? I'm sorta hungry." Cartman throws a half empty bag of chips in my direction, not even glancing at me. I scowl, but eat them anyway.

"So...you like this kind of music?" I ask. He nods slightly.

"Make fun of me all you want, but 'Shadows Of The Night' is pure fucking poetry." I laugh.

"No, I agree. I just thought you were a..."

"Aggressive hard rock fan?"

"Yeah."

"Not really. Not anymore. I mean, I like 'Slayer' and shit. But I dunno, my mom's feminist phase really got into me." I chuckle. Then I freak out slightly. Cartman's making me laugh quite a bit. Weird. "Though I'm glad that's over. Bitch was being a fucking hypocrite."

"Don't say it like that."

To my surprise, he just shrugs.

"Well, yeah, I misjudged you. This is actually pretty good." He smiles.

"What kind of music do _you_like, Jew boy?" I shrug.

"As long as it's good...anything, really."

"Nah, come on. Favorite band."

"Seriously, Cartman?"

"What; do you have any better plans?" I roll my eyes, but decide to play along. "Favorite band." He repeats. "Come on, you say yours, I'll say mine. Than you can ask something back and we'll just take turns."

"Ugh, fine. Um...Rol-"

"WAIT!"

"Jesus, what?!"

"A safe word. Quick."

"Uh, I don't know..." I glance around. "Ham." I said ham because that was the flavor of the Cheesy Poofs I just ate.

"'Ham'?"

"...is that you using the safe word or-"

"Ham." He rolls his eyes. "Okay, whatever. Favorite band."

"Rolling Stones."

"Alabama Shakes."

"...what."

"Never heard of it?" He asks with a smile. I am suddenly scared of answering his question. "It's not very popular. It's pretty sweet blues, though. Reeeally tits." Normally that would make me scoff, but I actually snigger. Who knew Cartman could be cool when he wasn't being a total asshole.

"My turn. Favorite place."

"Casa Bonita." Cartman says immediately.

"My grandma's house."

"Predictable. Favorite food."

"Chicken Fried Rice."

"Cheesy Poofs."

"Predictable. Favorite color? And don't say it was predictable, we're done with that."

"Okay ma'am." I give him a death glare, though he doesn't really pay attention. "Red."

"Green."

"Favorite movie."

"Ham."

"Huh? Oh. Why?"

"Just...ham. You?" I ask, though I know the answer. Silence Of The Lambs.

"Ham, too." I sigh. "...whose turn is it, now?"

"I'll go. Favorite TV show."

"Duh, Terrance & Phillip. I'm guessing it's safe to assume that-"

"Nope. Not anymore."

"What?" He asks, terrified.

"Ike is trying to recover his Canadian accent by watching shitloads of T&P, and since we still share a bedroom, it sucks. And I sort of hate it now."

"Do you realize what you just did? Four years of friendship wasted! Thrown away! If we don't have T&P then what_ do_we have?" I know it was supposed to be a joke (I even laughed, for real), but I can't avoid what escapes my mouth.

"We weren't friends. We're not." I see him flinching. His grip tightens in the steering wheel. He clamps his jaw shut. But doesn't say anything.

And that's when it hits me.

If it were anybody else saying that to him, he would stop the car and beat the shit out of them. But it's me, and he controls himself when it's me. _Always_.

I don't know why, but every motherfucking time I think he's going to bust my fucking nose open, he doesn't.

And that scares me more than it should.

But I'm probably just over thinking again. I shouldn't care if I don't get my nose busted.

Fuck it if I do.

I groan. I hate it when the conversation just...dies. It's so fucking awkward, especially if you're inside a car, I happened to find out. Well, I guess you just have to do some sacrifices sometimes. Hopefully, he won't laugh.

…_too hard_.

"Lilo & Stitch." I notice a confused look on his face, before it softened out.

"What about them?" I chuckle.

"It's my favorite movie. Lilo & Stitch."

"Are you fucking kidding me." I roll my eyes, and since I'm not sure if that's an actual question, I just ignore him.

"It's good. Especially since the soundtrack is pretty much just Elvis songs."

"You like Presley?"

"Uh-huh. Who doesn't?"

"He's the motherfucking king, isn't he?" I nod. I'm not sure if he saw it, though.

"What's your favorite Elvis song?"

"Sweet Caroline."

"You serious?"

"You got a problem with that, bitch?" I think he's only _half_kidding.

"No, absolutely not. Just thought you were more of a Jailhouse Rock fan. But I guess I just-"

"Misjudged me again?" I nod ashamedly. He sighs. "All Shook Up."

"What?"

"That's your favorite Elvis song." I cut my sentence off abruptly. How...?

"How do yo-"

"On Stan's fourteenth birthday you asked the DJ to play some good music, and you asked for All Shook Up. He didn't know who sang that, and you said: 'It's Elvis. It's my favorite song.'"

What the fuck just happened? I mean. What? WHAT? Whaaaaaaat?

"What." I manage out.

"Goddamn it." He curses under his breath, but doesn't say anything else. Oh fuck, this is so scary. The thought that he might actually know me. Actually_ like_ me. It's fucking terrifying.

I look to the road ahead of us. It's a free highway. I think we're the only ones on them, except for two tour buses and a motorcycle, but they're far behind us.

As cheesy as it may sound, we're far from home. Still, we have a long road ahead of us. It's weird. To be so close to being so far from the place I thought I belonged for all my life. Now I'm not so sure. Looking around, everything seems so...big. _Enormous_. South Park is a grain of sand when compared to the whole world I am yet to figure out. I'm not exactly sure of where I'll begin my journey, but all I know is that I don't want to do that alone.

* * *

Sorry about all the song references. But, I mean, if you didn't get them, then it's probably because you never heard them, and if you never heard them, then you should. _Now_.

Hahahah, just kidding. But not really. Anyways,** cheesy as fuck**, I know.

Just something to keep you entertained :)


	7. WANNA BE MY FRIEND? c:

Hey you guys c: so, this is not an actual chapter (sorry!), but I wanted to ask you something: if you have any ideas, suggestions, questions, or just want to talk to me, add me on facebook ( juddnelsonishot), or follow me on tumblr (rraisins. I'll follow back!). Oh, btw, my facebook is on portuguese (my natural language), but I speak english (obviously :p), and I just really want to meet awesome people, and of course I think my readers are awesome, so if you wanna be my friend, add me on fb so we can talk through the chat and all.  
Thanks, see you (hopefully) soon! :~


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